His
by kerriclifford240879
Summary: The Necromongers thought they could use her to contol him.  They thought wrong.


Title: His.

Author: Kerri.

Fandom: The Chronicles of Riddick.

Characters: Riddick/Kyra

Rating: Mature.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. I'm just using them for my own perverted sense of fun.

Feed back: Sure thing! Feedback is always helpful.

Summary: The Necromongers thought they could use her to contol him. They thought wrong.

Authors note: This was written for needtakehave, after she bid on me and won, in the Queensland Flood Relief Author's Auction. She requested Riddick/Kyra, and then gave me free reign. *Woot!* This is set after TCR. *Grins* Hon, I hope I've done you justice. *Wriggles* Let's get down and dirty, shall we?

1/1

Riddick sat in the throne room with a scowl on his face and the beginnings of a headache throbbing in his temple as his advisors talked over one another - he really didn't want to have to listen to them squabble or bitch and moan about the most trivial things. He had better things to be thinking about. Like her.

The Necromonger's who knelt at his feet had knelt there before - when he'd taken control of this floating city of death. When he'd held her in his arms, as death had stolen her away from him; stolen her warmth and her life. Kyra. _Jack_. His equal. His conscience. The girl who had haunted him for five years. The sister of his dreams and the unattainable desire of his reality. She'd been his penance, and his grief for her had been overwhelming. He'd laid her body within a cryo-tube, unwilling to give her up to finality, a twisted sleeping beauty who was guarded by death himself.

He'd been a force to be reckoned with. His rage had known no boundaries and it destroyed everything in its path. Unsure of how to sooth their new leader, the Necromonger's had offered him anything he wanted. The finest women on board the Basillca; bedding the willing had not soothed his savagery. They offered him death matches - the best of the Necromonger army had gone hand to hand with him. Most had died. All had been severally injured. And still he raged. It was only when he'd torn out the throat of his fourth advisor, that the Necromonger's had finally worked out what was needed to leash his animal. They told him how to resurrect Kyra - how to coax her soul back from beyond the veil of death, and return her to life.

For the first time in his life, Riddick had thought before he acted. She'd been dead for three months - Underverse was supposed to be paradise, she'd said she'd seen it. If her hatred for him had burned hotter than the pits of hell in Crematoria, how hot would it be if her pulled her from paradise and thrust her back into the life that had destroyed her? But in the end, her resurrection was as inevitable as her death had been. The Necromonger's couldn't control the animal anymore than Riddick himself could, and he'd called out to her. Called out to her, and found himself standing before the gates of Underverse. But instead of paradise he found hell. And it was hell's gates that he'd stormed. Hell itself that he'd plucked Kyra from.

Afterwards, when she had first woken in her body, there were days when he'd wished she'd died on Hades with Carolynn rather than turn from the Jack who had haunted him into the Kyra who hated him. She woke in his arms; woke up screaming, woke up shedding tears that were more unwilling in life than they had been in the moment of her death. His hand tangled in her hair, keeping her close. Her tears bounded them together. Kyra was reborn… she was reborn _angry_. Betrayal burned like acid in her veins. Hatred twisted her lips into a mocking smile and glowed in her eyes when she looked at him. It sweetened her voice when she spoke, and coiled along her skin like perfume.

He'd treated her like spun glass during those first few days; unwilling to leave her alone in the dark, he'd momentarily passed the reins of leadership to Vaako with the firm understanding that if his ambitious wife stepped out of line, Riddick would gut her. He held Kyra in his arms - held her close, and smoothed her hair back as she'd wept at the agony that being alive again brought. Locked together in darkness, locked together in the fight of a lifetime, Riddick tried to sooth her nightmares. Tried to sooth what death had done to her. What life had done. What _he_ had done. He failed on all fronts. He realized that the day she woke up with clear eyes. Her voice had been low. So low, that he'd had to strain to hear her.

"_Why didn__'__t you just leave me to die on that planet like you__'__d intended?__"_

Her words, spoken softly in the dark, had devastated him. And when he couldn't answer that softly spoken question, when he hadn't heard the pain and plea behind her words to deny what she was _really_ asking, she'd pulled away from his embrace. His hand had trailed along her skin as she sat up, and after a moments silence, she'd stood up and walked away. He hadn't known that by letting her go, he'd face several months of her hatred. But he did let her go, and in doing so, Kyra's opinion of him was cemented in her mind. She thought he'd only come after her out of guilt. Out of a twisted sense of obligation. She couldn't have been any more wrong.

They fought all the time - she fought against being alive because of him, and he fought the urge to shake the life back out of her. She accused, he snarled. She pushed, he wanted to drag his hands over his face in frustration. On and on it went, until the day she finally snapped. Riddick didn't scare easily. But he was scared that day. Scared for her. Scared that he'd hurt her, or that she'd hurt herself. It never entered his mind that _she__'__d _hurt_ him_. He'd seen her fight before. Had seen her strength, and her grace. But then she turned it on him. She turned it on him, and they went hand to hand in their living quarters. They destroyed the room, they destroyed the furniture, and when he finally gained the advantage and pinned her down, when he could finally _see_, he destroyed what poisoned her.

That moment was burned into his memories. She'd used a combination of kicks and punches and her flexibility when combined with the two was a beautiful thing to observe. But then she'd cut him - he hadn't seen the shiv coming, but he felt the burn of it as it glided along the skin of his shoulder. He'd turned at the last minute - if he hadn't, she would have slit his throat. Until then, he'd been blocking her abuse. But when she drew blood, his blood, the back of his fist had collided with her face, the force of it spinning her around and knocking her into the wall and then to the floor. It had dazed her enough that he'd been able to spin her body around and pull her through his legs like he'd done to Carolynn so long ago.

But unlike Carolynn who had flinched away from the shiv against her throat, Kyra had leaned up into it. Daring him with her eyes. Daring him, to finish what he'd started. To become what the universe deemed him to be - a monster. He almost had. He'd almost slit her throat and spilt her blood. It had been the scent of her blood, however, that had pulled him back from the razor's edge he'd been balanced on. The shiv had nicked her throat - only the smallest of nicks. But when her blood - that ruby red blood - had welled to the surface of her skin, he'd finally seen her pain. He'd finally seen the poison within her. And when his shiv clattered to the floor and he dragged her up into a rough embrace, it had been tears she'd shed instead. They had soaked into his skin - seeped into him, as did the scent of her blood.

He'd held her through the force of it. Tangled her hair in his hand, and wrapped his arms around her as she wept bitterly. And when she'd finally begged him to kill her, to end her misery, he'd refused. He'd refused, and told her what she'd needed to hear all along. He couldn't kill the one person in the 'Verse who mattered to him. The one person in the 'Verse he'd kill for. The one person in the 'Verse he'd die for. He couldn't't kill her, because he couldn't live without her. He'd tried once. He'd spent five years on a frozen heap, trying to protect her. He'd isolated himself, because she mattered more than anyone else. He loved her. Didn't she know that? And when he'd seen the look on her face, he realized that no, she hadn't known. She hadn't known but she'd needed to more than anything.

And in that fragile moment, he was unsure of what she needed him to do next. In the end, he fell back on habit. He held her until she slept, her hand curled near his heart, and her tears drying on her cheeks. And when she slept, he carried her away from the carnage of the living room and into his sleeping quarters. He carried her to the bed that she had refused to sleep in. His bed. Not like _that_ - he had the whores of the Necropolis for _that_. He'd needed her close after her rebirth. She'd demanded distance. He laid her on silk sheets, and curled around her. Breathed her in. And shuddered, as he thought over how close he had come to loosing her again.

When Kyra woke up, she woke up in darkness, with his scent surrounding her as securely as his arms did. She woke to the sound of his heart under one ear, and the soft rumble of his animal in the other. She woke to the feeling of his fingers toying with her hair, and the caress of his breath across her forehead. She woke, finally, to the silver of his eyes as he watched over her in the dark. And when she woke, when Riddick saw her eyes flutter open, he finally found a small measure of hope when she looked up at him, and remained curled in his arms.

"…Understandably, Dame Solomon is rather upset, because she had coveted the ruby piece for herself, and when she saw that Dame Vaako was wearing it…"

Riddick rolled his eyes as the Necromonger advisor continued to speak. He'd half thought they were the biggest, baddest things in the universe when he'd first taken control of them. Biggest, yes. Baddest? Well. The only danger he was in, was that they might bitch him to death before this fucked up journey was over.

"Lord Riddick?"

Riddick turned his gaze towards the man with a low snarl. His headache eased slightly when the advisor's hand flew up to his throat, and he took a step back in self defense. Yeah… _he _was the biggest, baddest thing in the universe now, and the whole fucking Necropolis knew it.

"I don't give a _fuck_ about some bitching, winging woman, who's got her nose out of fucking joint over a piece of _jewellery_," he said softly.

The advisor took several more steps in retreat. Quietness from Riddick meant spilt blood, and the advisor really didn't want it to be his. The whole throne room held its breathe, as they waited with vindictive glee to see what their Lord Marshal would do now. Even as Riddick shifted on the throne, his head turned sharply as he looked upwards. The gathered Necromongers looked up as one, and when they saw Kyra leaning against the rail on the level above them, the general thought that ran through each mind was that bringing her back from the dead had been a wise move indeed. Kyra wore white. The dress skimmed down her body like water, highlighting her fragile beauty. It floated around her bare feet, while diamonds sparkled in her unbound hair.

She looked like a virgin sacrifice. The Necromongers knew that looks were deceiving; that had been proven when one of the Necromonger Commanders had tried to dispose of Kyra . Riddick had sat back with a look of hunger on his face as Kyra made short work of the man with brutal elegance. No, Kyra wasn't as fragile as she appeared - she was just as dangerous as Riddick. She walked with grace, her movements fluid and silent. And when her eyes met their Lord Marshal's, she tilted her chin down and maintained eye contact. Riddick tilted his head as he watched Kyra's fingertips trail over the wrought iron detail of the balcony railing, before he licked the corner of his mouth and rose to his feet.

"Meeting's over," he muttered. "Next person who fucking winges at me over such trivial _shit_, will find 'emselves jettisoned."

Ignoring the soft murmurs that erupted, Riddick made his way through the crowd, who all turned to watch him. And as they watched, as they followed his progress up the ornate staircase that lead to the upper levels of the Basillca, they saw that he was heading straight for Kyra. Kyra had stayed where she was, looking down at the throne room. The room she had died in, and at the throne she had died for. When Riddick reached her, the men envied him as he stepped up behind her, and closed his hands around the rail either side of her body, effectively boxing her in against the balcony rail with his arms. He lowered his head slightly and when he breathed in against her side of her throat, Kyra closed her eyes.

The women envied Kyra, when Riddick drew his fingertips down the length of her arm to her hand. Kyra looked up at him over her shoulder, and Riddick's lips quirked slightly. It was as he offered her his hand that the Necromongers saw the real truth. They thought that by bringing her back, they would have a leash for his animal. A way to control him. But when Kyra took his hand, and Riddick turned to lead her up the staircase to their private rooms, the Necromongers saw that Riddick wasn't leashed. His animal was free, and wild. And he would destroy them all to protect her. Riddick, and the girl he had torn Underverse apart to find. The trip to Underverse would be a fascinating one for sure.

Ever since he'd gotten his eyeshine, whether it had been through some ghost lady in his dreams or through a twisted Doc called Cutter in Ursa Luna, Riddick hadn't been able to handle light when his goggles were off. It burned his eyes when the lights were bright and rendered him blind. But even with the mild pain, he kept the lights in their rooms on low at all times. It enabled Kyra to see - to see if she woke from a nightmare. To see who was touching her, soothing her as she shook with fear. To see who was holding her through the long, cold nights in space. It enabled her, to see him when he touched her like _this_.

Her dress lay across the foot of their bed, a stain of innocence across bedding as black as night . As black as sin. As black as _him_. Kyra lay beneath him, her chest still heaving and her breath jetted onto his shoulder and down his back, quick and jagged, as she clung to him. Her thighs were still clamped tightly either side of his hips, and he knew without looking, that she'd scored new trails of blood across his shoulders. Riddick nuzzled the soft skin under her ear, and pressed his mouth against her throat. Her skin was damp under his lips - damp with her sweat and his combined. The smell of it was a heady combination indeed. When Kyra finally stopped shuddering, he withdrew from her body slowly. Carefully. And shifting to her side, Riddick pulled her into his arms and skimmed his hand down her back.

It wasn't the first time he'd held her like this, and it wouldn't be the last. But it never ceased to amaze him, that she would let him touch her at all. That they had finally arrived at this point, where he could hold her and kiss her, and know that she was with him in the moment. That she wanted this as much as he did, and that she wasn't fucking him out of a sense of obligation. No. Not his Kyra. She was vocal in her wants and needs, and she had taken to this, to sex with him, as naturally as she had to breathing again. Brushing his nose over the crown of her head, Riddick listened as her breathing evened out, and let a small smile quirk the corners of his mouth. It also never ceased to amaze him, that it was Kyra who rolled over and went to sleep first. Looking back on it, Riddick tightened his hold on his lover.

They'd tiptoed around each other after the fight that saved them both. Unsure of where to step, of what the other expected, and yes, he could admit, plain afraid that they'd fuck it all up again if they stepped wrong. Him. Natural born killer. Lord of the Necromongers, scared, of what a seventeen year old girl thought. Fucking pathetic. She'd never left his bed after the night he finally figured her out. Oh, it had been innocent enough for over a month. But that hum, that burning in the blood which had been there since Crematoria had returned, and it bubbled under his skin. He didn't know what to make of it at first. This was Jack. His kid sister, the sister of his heart.

And as the days turned into weeks, he finally admitted that he didn't look at Jack like a sister. Not anymore. Not when he wanted to fuck her senseless; since the first instance in Crematoria when he'd pressed her up against the cage, it had hummed under his skin. He had to be as sick as the psychiatrists had been saying all along. But as the weeks turned into that first month, he saw that Kyra was right. Jack was dead. She'd died the first time a merc had pushed her down onto her back and raped her. And in her place, on that blood stained floor in the past, Kyra had been born. Kyra the predator who watched and hunted along the same darkness he knew. It still didn't sit well with him. As it didn't sit well with him, when she lay curled so trustingly in his arms. It grated along his spine, when he'd come back to their rooms for dinner and see the light that lit up in her eyes.

But the worst times were when she would come out of the bathroom after her evening bath - her skin would be flushed pink, and her hair would curl damply around her face and shoulders. Completely innocent, until he wondered what would her skin look like after being thoroughly fucked? What would her hair look like, after he'd had his hands in it? What would her face look like, as she came for him? It drove him to the point of madness. And then one night, he found out. It had started with an argument - but didn't all passion spring from strong emotion? He hated what had been done to her here on board the Basillca. She'd died on this floating city of death. She'd died for _him_.

And when he walked into the bathroom one night and saw her getting ready for dinner, he'd flipped his shit when he saw that she was wearing what the other Dames wore. Those long, tight columns of material, that showed off every muscle and curve. It had been a simple enough dress - it cut too close to home. Far too close. It reminded him all too much, of the night she had died. He'd asked her to change. She'd snorted, and when she'd turned around he'd seen the entire length of her back, from her top of her neck to the swell of her ass, and that had been it. He'd seen her skin. He'd seen the trail of scars that were a reminder of her death. He demanded that she change. And she'd dragged her gaze up and down the length of his body, with sheer insolence glowing in her eyes, and told him ever so politely to go fuck himself.

He was used to her mouth. He was used to her venom. But he hadn't heard it directed at him since the poison inside her had drawn blood. And as she swept passed him to leave the bathroom, Riddick's hand shot out and gripped her upper arm, before he wrenched his goggles off. He hadn't had to say anything; Kyra's eyes met his in the dim light, and her lips parted at the look on his face. Holding her there, holding her gaze, Riddick laid it all out for her in terms she'd understand. He couldn't and wouldn't watch her become one of _them_. He hated that she submitted to their ways, when he knew that their ways weren't hers. That when they reached the Underverse, she was leaving with him, while the rest of their psycho-fuck-army tore themselves apart in hell.

Standing there, side-by-side, with his eyes flashing silver fire in the dim light, Kyra's face slowly relaxed. The anger in her eyes died away, and she raised her hand to lightly touch her fingertips to his face. But when she rose to her tiptoes and replaced her fingers with her lips, she'd felt the way he stilled under the chaste touch of her mouth to his skin. Complete stillness, within a man who was always poised for fight. She thought she'd done the wrong thing. At first. It was only as she pulled back that she saw that his eyes were shut. And as she stood there, with his fingers locked around her arm, and a visible tick in his jaw, Riddick opened his eyes and looked down at her. And for a half-a-dozen heartbeats, she hadn't known what the look on his face meant.

He'd fought internally as he looked down at her. He could let her go, and nothing between them would change. But then she moistened her lower lip as if chasing a final taste of him, and he lost that fight. Kyra's eyes widened slightly when he lowered his head; a slow movement that allowed her to realize what he planed on doing. But he was her Riddick, the monster who saved her from the dark, and when his mouth paused above hers, she knew that he was giving her the choice. She could walk away, and he'd never mention what was humming between them. Or she could bridge that small distance, and belong to him in the only way that she didn't. He already owned her heart and soul. Choice made, Kyra lifted her chin and offered him her mouth. Choice made, Riddick slanted his mouth across hers and changed things.

For a moment, her mouth remained still and closed against his. Only a moment, but it was long enough that Riddick thought he'd read the situation wrong. But then her mouth trembled under his; trembled and softened, and as he slid his hands through her hair, she rose up on tiptoe again and pressed against him. At the touch of her body against his, the iron clad grip he'd held on his desire for her snapped, and he dragged her closer still. They stood there, wrapped around each other like vines and drowning. Starved for the taste of her, Riddick returned to her mouth time and time again. He scented her throat, and nipped at her chin, but was drawn back to her lips. Kisses that were more drugging than any stun dart, and the antidote, she discovered, came with the sensation of his hands rasping roughly down her sides.

Her skin was like satin under his hands when he dragged them down her bare spine. But the dress she wore was too constricting in his quest for _more _and when he lifted his head and snarled out his frustration, Kyra's hands dug into his shoulders when he banded an arm around her waist and hoisted her up onto the vanity unit. The mirror was cold against her back, and Kyra arched away from it even as he pressed her upper body against it. Her nails dug into the back of his neck, and when he hissed against the curve of her jaw at the sudden pain, it was her low laughter that soothed him. Snaking her hands under the snug shirt he wore, Kyra smoothed her hands up his sides, the material bunching over her wrists until she was able to tug it up and off.

"_Beautiful.__"_

Her whisper skated across caramel skin followed by her lips, and Riddick grasped a handful of curls and jerked her head back. Kyra's yelp was followed by a throaty moan as his lips scored a line down her neck; his answering chuckle drowned out the drag of shiv tip against reinforced cotton as he removed the shiv from where he kept it against his thigh.

"_Don__'__t move.__"_

It was rasped out against her throat, and Kyra stilled. She heard the tip of his shiv scrape the bench top, before it moved over her hip against the detail of her dress. It was only as it moved over her thigh that she knew Riddick's intent, and when his arm tightened around her lower back, she shifted as best she could to accommodate him. Despite the thickness of the material that was stretched tightly across her thighs, the shiv still split the dress easily. The metal was cold against her heated skin. Goosebumps broke out between her thighs as he slowly split the bottom of her dress in two. Her legs free of the constricting dress, Riddick dropped his shiv, and as it clattered to the floor he pulled her knees apart and stepped between them. Kyra swore softly when Riddick grasped the material and wrenched it apart. His fingers dug into her thigh as he hitched it higher over his hip, before walking his fingers down the back of her thigh and across the crease of her ass.

"_Tell me if you don__'__t want this. Be sure if you do__…" _

His voice was a murmur against her jaw, and Kyra slowly opened her eyes as his lips left her skin. She could only just make him out in the dim lighting, but she knew he could see her. Even though his fingers continued to move in circles against her ass, his eyes remained steady on her face. On her. It only took her a heartbeat to answer.

"_Yes ... God, yes.__"_

Riddick's mouth came down over hers and the time for speaking was over. His questing fingers slid from her ass to between her thighs where he found slick arousal, and tight heat. For Kyra, it was a flurry of movement. His touch set off little nerve endings in her skin, and as she arched over his arm, she felt more than heard the buckle from his belt hit the bench top he had her balanced on. She closed her eyes when she felt the tip of his cock ghost over her clit, and breathed in to steady herself as he pushed her knees back and up. Riddick's head dropped to her shoulder for a moment as he aligned himself with her, and she felt the flick of his tongue over her collarbone as he started pressing inside.

"_It's called kinetics, Jack - you don't have enough weight behind you, to make me let you go.__"_

He'd told her that back on Crematoria, when he had shoved an arm through her thighs and jerked her up the cage door. She'd bucked against him, trying to wrench out of the iron clad grip her had on her, only to have him chuckle as he brushed his nose down the side of her throat. He had the weight and the sheer muscle mass. It had been no contest. He'd shown her that sheer size when he'd plucked her off a cliff face and out of the way of a fiery death. He was a big man. And now, here, pinned between him and the mirror, Kyra's nails dug into his arms and drew blood. He was a big man. He was a big man in every sense of the word.

It hurt, more than she thought it would, considering her past. Riddick felt the tremble that wracked her frame and grunted; it felt impossible that he'd be able to enter her at all for a long, trembling moment, but then she gasped and shook as the tightness yielded and let him partway in. He went slow, but didn't stop once he'd started, and Kyra let her head fall back against the mirror and closed her eyes again. Her teeth sank into her lower lip to try to deflect some of the burning pain that way and drew blood. She felt him bottom out inside her, and Riddick's voice was strained when he spoke her name. When his tongue flicked over her bottom lip and he licked away the blood, Kyra wondered briefly, if she had just willingly given the last of her innocence to the man she had wanted to be her first. But her thoughts were brief, and they scattered when he started to move.

Looking down at her again, Riddick felt his lips curve slightly. What they had wasn't perfect. They still fought. She accused, he snarled. She pushed, he wanted to drag his hands over his face in frustration. And when life got to be too much, she still scored her nails down his back when they fucked the frustration out of each other. She was his equal. His conscience. The girl who had haunted him for five years. The girl of his dreams and the steady force in the hell of his reality. He had torn Underverse apart to find her. And found her he had. She was the chains the bound him to the Necromongers, until he could figure out a way to destroy the lot of them and send them on their way to hell. She was his.

~Fin.~


End file.
